


Lullaby

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 19:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: He knew what whiplash felt like, knew the after-effects all too well. There was no avoiding it. Any of it. So why bother trying? How could he not act when Bono looked at him like that?Set in early 1992.





	Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, look, I wrote a fic set during the early 90s, THAT IS SO NOT LIKE ME.
> 
> ...anyway. So This is a little fic that I wrote to get me back into the groove of things now that I have a few weeks off, so I can tackle some....slightly bigger fics while in the BedgeZone. I didn't quite know what was going to happen in this fic until I sat down to write it tonight, so it was a nice surprise for myself also. It also doesn't know if it wants to be funny or angsty or porny, which actually makes sense because Bono and Edge can be all of those things, so I feel like I captured their ~true emotions~
> 
> Title comes from The Cure song of the same name. I've been listening to Disintegration these past few days, and there may also be one line that was slightly inspired by Fascination Street, and another idea that kinda came from Lovesong. I feel like Robert Smith would be proud that he inspired Bedge porn. Thanks Robert, love you and all of you other peeps, truly.

It was common for Edge to go back and forth regarding who to blame for their latest transgression. It wasn’t Bono’s fault, he would think sometimes, because it could never be Bono’s fault. How could he place blame when such a look was being thrown his way? That look, that smile—crooked and meant for him during that one brief moment, only him—could easily make Edge take two steps forwards instead of widening the distance between them, force his hand, cause him to forget all the reasons why _no_ was a word he had decided to use more, and bring forth the want so quickly that it made him dizzy in the aftermath.

He knew what whiplash felt like, knew the after-effects all too well. There was no avoiding it. Any of it. So why bother trying? How could he _not_ act when Bono looked at him like that?

It was Bono’s fault, he would think on those nights when the world was against them and Edge was left feeling a little dangerous, because it had to be Bono’s fault. One look was all it took, but leading up to it came that familiar sensation, the knowing. Halfway across the stage, with Edge focused on the beat, the melody, the sea of people moving together at his feet, he still knew exactly when Bono’s gaze found him. And it lingered. Until he _had_ to glance up and meet that gaze, sure of what he was about to find, the anticipation already building low in his stomach. That look. _Tonight_. That fucking look. _Fuckmenow_. That look and that smile. _EdgeEdgeEdge_ . . .

In the middle of a gig with half a stage between them, Edge still could picture it. He could hear that laugh low in his ear, feel the warm breath against his lips as Bono held back, teasing, whispering his name, again and again, until Edge couldn’t take it a moment longer. A warm body in his lap, a hand against his neck, black leather and sweat. They were images that stayed in his mind for days. And when they parted, that look of Bono’s had changed to blind adoration, the warmth in his eyes reminding Edge that _no_ was never an option.

It was Edge’s fault. It was Bono’s fault. It was Larry’s for deciding to form a fucking band. It was nobody’s fault. They were just playing the hand that life had dealt them.

They found themselves in the bathroom on one of those nights, skin to skin, back to chest, looking into the mirror. There were thoughts that Edge had sometimes, that he had to fight to keep from saying, and they caught in his chest and _burned_. He was filled to the brim with words that were close to declarations of—of what? It seemed dangerous to put a name to it. He had thought that avoiding it would cause any such feelings to eventually slip away, and all that they would be left with was what they had started with, all those months before. That look. _Fuckmenow_. That one look and nothing more.

It was hard to believe that there had been a time when complications weren’t greeting them at every turn.

He wanted to say it. And he almost did. He watched himself breathe Bono in, kissed his neck and caught his tongue just in time. Still, he wanted nothing more than to see Bono smile. He wanted to say it. Instead, he asked Bono’s reflection, “If you’re The Fly, then what does that make me?”

Bono’s expression turned brilliant fast. His teeth were slick against Edge’s jaw when he smiled, his laughter slowly rolling through them both. “Always The Edge. No matter what.”

“No, that’s not fair. You get to be an insect, why can’t I?”

“It’s not something you can be, Edge, it’s just something that you are. A feeling, deep inside.”

“And that’s how you feel, deep inside? Like an annoying pest who gets into anywhere and everywhere despite not being invited?”

Bono didn’t respond. The look he gave Edge in the mirror said more than enough.

“No, come on. Play the game,” Edge insisted. “Come up with something, it’s not fair that you get a new persona and I don’t.”

“You just want to wear black leather on stage, don’t you? I bet that would make all the girls in the front row go _whee_!”

“What would I be?” Edge kissed his shoulder. His neck. “Hmm? What would I be?” The sigh came only when he kissed Bono’s jaw. He went back to watching their reflection, waiting as Bono thought it through.

“A spider. You’d be a spider.”

“Spiders are arachnids, not insects.”

There was a smile on Bono’s face when he turned around in Edge’s arms. “Shut the fuck up,” he said. “I didn’t come here to be belittled by your superior brain.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Why did I come?” His palm found Edge’s neck before he leaned in. “Why?” His breath was warm against Edge’s lips. “Why do you think?”

It was so easy to believe that they had no commitments in life when it was just the two of them alone in a hotel room. It was rare that Edge let himself imagine, but on those nights when he was feeling especially weak, he gave in and believed, if only for a few minutes, that this was how it could always be.

Alone in that hotel room with the music playing low in the background, they found a beat and moved to it until they were burning, caught between slick skin and white heat that pooled low in his belly and marred his vision like lightning in a dark sky.

He couldn’t ignore how Bono trembled against him afterwards. How he rolled over to face Edge and drag him closer. His chest was still flushed, the pink at his neck slowly fading beneath the sweat. He clung to Edge like he’d been saved mere seconds before succumbing to the sea. He wasn’t smiling. Not yet. His hair was damp with sweat and starting to curl at the ends. Edge tried to smooth it down with his palm, over and over until his original intent had slipped away and turned towards simple comfort.

It wasn’t just sex. It hadn’t been for a while now. He couldn’t pinpoint when things had changed, or why, but they had. There was a word for it, threatening to spill from his lips, and if it did Edge _knew_ that Bono wouldn’t freak out. He wasn’t sure what the reaction would be, but it wouldn’t be anything close to anger. So what was stopping him? Truly?

He just didn’t know. But when Bono leaned back just far enough for Edge to see him smile, his gaze said it all, really. Their first time together—their first real time, anyway—Bono had been insistent while Edge had been unsure, saying _I don’t want to hurt you,_ to which Bono had responded _you never could_. And maybe in Bono’s mind, that was the truth. But Edge knew how easy it was to hurt another person, even when it wasn’t intentional. _Especially_ when it wasn’t intentional. He knew how to break down a relationship. He knew how to force the love from a person’s gaze. He had done it once. He couldn’t do it again. Couldn’t bear to be the cause of it all once more.

He would have to be careful.

So when Bono came to him with an idea on a different night in a different country, the two of them alone together in an unfamiliar hotel, Edge said no almost immediately.

Bono, for his part, clapped back the way that Edge knew he would. “Why not? It’ll be fun.” Their foreheads met, and Bono’s smile turned a little feral. “Me, completely at your mercy. Caught in your spider web. Don’t tell me you’ve never considered it before.”

Edge had. Of course he had. On those nights when he was alone and feeling a little dangerous, he’d sometimes imagined Bono struggling beneath him, unable to move, the ropes tied so tightly at his wrists, his ankles, that they would leave burn marks for days. It wasn’t the worst thing he had pictured the two of them doing together, not by a long shot, and he enjoyed the rush that came with that little fantasy, the sense of power that he often insisted he never wanted to experience. But it was one thing to imagine, another to make a reality, and there were stepping stones in the bedroom, he knew, that led straight on towards full domination. He wasn’t sure if he could hold back, after taking that first step. Obsession came far too easily for Edge sometimes.

But Bono was nothing if not persistent. That smile stayed as he started to roll his hips in Edge’s lap, his fingers dancing against skin that was growing hotter by the second. “Come on, Spiderman,” he said in his best _fuckme_ voice, and Edge had to laugh. Of all the fucking nicknames . . . “Don’t laugh, this is serious time now, Edge. Be serious.”

“I am serious. This is me being serious. No.”

“Really? I honestly thought you would be into the idea. You haven’t exactly hid . . .”

“Hid what?”

Bono was wearing a look that Edge just couldn’t place. Slowly, it turned into something a bit looser, and he even managed to bring out the bedroom eyes. “The fact that you like me being a little, you know. Submissive.”

“I do not!”

Bono just gave him a _look_. It was enough to shame Edge straight on towards the truth.

“Well, maybe I do a little. But I thought you—”

“Liked it? Edge,” Bono leaned back in to press a kiss high above Edge’s cheekbone before continuing, “do you think I would be suggesting this if I didn’t?”

Edge let out a sigh. “No.”

“Have you thought about it before?”

“I’ve thought about doing a lot of things with you, Bono. I think a few of those things might shock even you.”

Bono’s eyebrow shot up towards his hairline. “Really?” Up and down Edge’s body went his gaze, and he bit his lip as he smiled. “Try me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing, that’s why.”

“Christ, what sort of depraved shit are you picturing us doing? You’re turning red just thinking about it!”

“Bono—”

“You can whisper it all in my ear if that’ll make you feel less self-conscious. Or write it down? I promise I’ll burn the evidence before _Rolling Stone_ magazine can steal it for their latest front-page exclusive.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Sorry? Don’t be sorry, I’m not. Surely you know by now I’m up for anything.” He paused. “Well, almost everything. There are a few lines not to be crossed, of course, but I won’t judge if one of those things is on your to-do list with me. We’ll talk it through like adults.”

“Get out of my lap, I’m done with you tonight.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Bono insisted, before dissolving into laughter when Edge attempted to shove him off, holding strong against the hands that gripped his wrists and pushed him back before pulling him forward. His laughter was slow to fade against Edge’s mouth, but it did, turning into a moan that made Edge want to step out onto the balcony and scream his intentions over and over until everyone knew exactly how lucky he was. He couldn’t lose this. He didn’t think he could bear to lose it. And when Bono pulled back and started to slide away from him, Edge’s heart began to beat just that bit faster, a shot of adrenaline attempting to cancel out the panic that he knew was completely ridiculous.

“What—”

“ _Shhh_.” A hand trailed down his chest as Bono kept sliding, slipping down until his knees met the carpet, landing with the sort of grace that he rarely possessed. He made quick work of Edge’s belt buckle and zipper before gripping the material at Edge’s waist. “Up.” Edge complied, lifting himself from the chair long enough for Bono to drag down his jeans and Calvin’s in one go. It was only then that he turned his gaze back towards Edge’s face, and kept it there long after he leaned in to briefly press his lips against the head of Edge’s cock before opening his mouth fully and sliding down, bringing forth wet heat and a tongue that teased, that quickly urged Edge closer to a place that he didn’t want to reach yet.

It had to last. He had to make it last just a while longer. It was too much and he wasn’t sure if he could stand another moment of the pressure, the burn. No, it wasn’t nearly enough, and he had to have more. His fingers found Bono’s hair, guiding him, pushing him, gripping too tightly. Dark hair and dark eyes. Bono hadn’t glanced away. He stopped moving when Edge made him, two hands forcing his head still, his gaze turning almost victorious when Edge started to thrust hard, up into his mouth. He knew. And he was glad to be right. He wanted it.

He wanted it.

It was over as quickly as it started, and there wasn’t enough air left in the room for Edge to catch his breath fully and bring him back to his senses. He was hyperaware of every move that Bono was making at his feet. Two palms slowly dragging back and forth along his calves. Warm breath against his still-sensitive cock. And every time Bono shifted his head even a little, his hair tickled the skin of Edge’s thighs. He looked as though there was nowhere else on Earth that he would rather be. But eventually, he had to move. He had to sit up properly and open his eyes once more to look at Edge, but not before pressing his lips against Edge’s knee and then his inner thigh for one final lasting impression.

Up he came to straddle Edge once more, a too-warm body that was hard in all the right places, and when they kissed the taste against his tongue caused Edge to relive it all in vivid technicolour. “I like it a little, he says.” Bono shook his head before fixing a heated look Edge’s way. He leaned in closer to say, “Tell me the truth. I want to hear it.”

“B . . .”

“You love me like that, don’t you?”

“I love _you_.”

Bono drew back to stare at him, surprise written across his face. Neither of them had seen the conversation heading that way. But it had. And Edge had been right. Bono wasn’t mad. The smile was slow to emerge but once it did finally appear it seemed adamant not to go anywhere, and the only thing Edge could think to regret was not the fact that he’d let it slip, but that he’d not said it earlier. What had been stopping him, truly? He wanted to tell Bono more. He wanted to tell him exactly how he looked, in that very moment. There were so many words that he could think to describe that look on his face. How could he ever blame Bono for this happening?

“This is a ploy to get out of answering the question, isn’t it?”

“Are you _serious_ right now?”

“I’m a lot of things right now, Edge.” He drew them closer together with a gentle hand at the back of Edge’s neck. His lips were warm against Edge’s jaw. “I’m appreciative and overwhelmed, and you know, you have to know—”

“I know.”

“—but I haven’t enjoyed the recent luxury that you have, so is there any chance we could postpone _that_ discussion until after I’ve been taken care of? I mean, it’s not like me to ruin a meaningful moment, but Edge. I’m suffering here.”

It was hard to feel frustrated when Bono was giving him that look. So Edge took pity on him. “I love it,” he admitted, holding Bono’s gaze even as his hands snaked down to work at the belt buckle between them. “You’ve no idea what it does to me to imagine you like that. You’re like a completely different person to what everyone else sees.” Bono’s eyes fluttered shut when Edge’s palm found his erection, and it was a different smile that appeared on his face. If only they had a camera handy. “It makes me think that you’re mine—”

“I am.”

“—only mine.”

That made Bono open his eyes. He watched Edge until he couldn’t anymore, until his breath started to hitch in his throat, matching the upwards slide of the hand shifting against his cock. It was the only sound either of them made until that final moment when Bono let out a choked groan, his fingers digging into the same shoulder his forehead was resting against as he came. For those precious few seconds he turned into a gasping mess, and Edge was sorry to see him pull away.

It was only when the lights were off that Bono brought it all up again, saying in a low voice, “You’re not going to hurt me, you know.”

“What?”

“I can handle whatever you can think to throw my way, Edge. And frankly, I’m a little insulted that you think I can’t.”

“Are you really?”

“Would it make you feel guilty if I said yes?”

“Not really.”

“That’s good, because I can also handle you thinking I can’t handle shit. I am one _stroooong_ motherfucker.”

It was a struggle not to give in to frustration and start laughing as Edge shook his head and said, “Oh my god, B, go to sleep.”

“I’m serious. You’re not going to hurt me.”

“You keep saying that like it’s fact—”

“It is.”

“No, you only believe it because you’ve put all of your fucking trust in me.”

“And why have I done that, huh? I trust you because I know you wouldn’t do a goddamn thing to anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

“But I have!” Edge exclaimed. “I have before, alright?”

The sheets rustled next to him, the noise preparing him for the hand that found his chest in the darkness. “I’m not her, Edge,” Bono said quietly. “And you’re not who you were back then. People change. Things fall apart even when there is nobody to blame. You’re allowed to make some mistakes along the road. It doesn’t mean you’re going to continue making them.”

“I just . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t want to lose this,” Edge admitted. “But I can’t help but wonder what happens when we get found out. I’m not just thinking about—about all _this_ when I worry about you getting hurt. What happens when Ali finds out?”

The silence that followed lasted for so long that Edge started to worry. He’d done it already. He’d managed to break Bono in a way that he hadn’t seen coming.

“I don’t want to stop this, Edge. Do you?”

“No.”

“I don’t think we can. I don’t even think we could have avoided it starting, no matter what we did.” Bono sighed, his breath gently huffing out against Edge’s cheek. “I can’t feel guilty for it. And I could never blame you for anything that happened because of something that I started. It might have been easier before, but all the complications just make me want you more.”

“But—”

“ _Shhh_.” His fingers skipped up Edge’s chest to come rest against his carotid artery. “It’s late, let’s talk about something else and leave this whole thing until another day, hmm? I’ve got a story for you, do you want to hear it? It’s a good one, I swear.”

There was so much more that Edge wanted to say, a million insecurities and worries that he needed to air out. But it seemed like a terrible idea to try and continue. They had time to go down that path. There were so many days ahead of them where it would be easier, and less dangerous. Darkness had a way of making everything so needlessly fragile. It was stupid to risk delving into it away from the sunlight that made life just seem that little bit more hopeful. “Let’s hear it.”

“Okay. It’s about this guy named Edge—”

“I’m bored already.”

“It gets better, I promise. So this Edge guy found himself in a position recently that he didn’t want to be in, you know? There was this annoying voice in his ear, asking him all these questions that he didn’t want to answer, so instead of carefully explaining all the ways in which he is, in fact, kinky, to his good friend Bono, who had just so happened to find himself in Edge’s lap, because clearly they are _very_ good friends, he instead starts sprouting sonnets like he’s fucking Shakespeare.”

“Oh, I did, did I?”

“’Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day, Bono?’ Oh, but to do so wouldn’t be nearly enough now, would it, Edge thinks. If only there were a word that I could think to use that would properly capture exactly what I was feeling. If only there were a word that would make Bono forget he ever asked such a stupid fucking question.”

“Go to sleep, Bono.”

“Why, am I buggin’ you?” Bono asked, barely containing the laughter that threatened to break on through. “You can sleep if you want. But if you’ll excuse me, this is actually my new favourite story, and I want to hear how it ends.”

There was no stopping him, Edge knew, so he didn’t even try. He just closed his eyes and listened, as Bono recounted their evening, throwing in embellishments—some of which Edge wished had happened, others that almost made him crack open his eyes and stare at Bono in horror through the dark.

It helped. Somehow, it actually made Edge almost forget all the wrong things that had happened and still could in their lives, and forced him to focus on the now. The warm body pressed against him. The fingers that brushed against the skin of his throat. The rise and fall of Bono’s chest as he breathed. And the way he shaped his words in such a way, painting a story even when there wasn’t much to tell, picking all the right moments to take a pause and take a breath, his voice gently drifting over Edge like a lullaby.

 


End file.
